As I drive to and from work, I pass several chapels. Not a surprise, this being the Land of Zion and all. Yesterday I was treated to a plethora of pious people parading their progeny to pray in the pews. Invariably, the women had those hideously long skirts which hit the middle of the calf, highlighting the fat part. Add flat shoes and a serviceable coat and you've got all the makings of... a nun. Which brought on a song...cue the music.
This is sung to the tune of "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" but jazzier. Think Ella Fitzgerald.
Hide your shoulders, knees and toes
Let no man peek at those.
Men are so horny, heaven knows
They get turned on by pantyhose.
You will notice that I now have an adult content warning to get into my blog. I did this myself as an option to locking down my blog to keep it from certain nosy eyes. And suddenly my page views shot way up! A side effect I didn't anticipate.
But since you now have been warned, I might as well get a little racy in this post. Cognitive Dissenter made a couple of comments that had me peeing my pants and if you missed them I've simply got to put them here. The woman has a wicked way with words...
About my picture of Adam and God: "Adam's flaccid penis in the above painting is nothing to shake a stick at, is it? Don't you think the first man would have a more impressive package? It looks like a worm crawled out of his crotch and sat on his leg."
"I am fascinated by the fact that so many men associate their sense identity with such a relatively small and vulnerable member of their person. I mean if it was really a brass rod 100% of the time that would be one thing. But most of the time it just sits there and looks lonely and sad."
And then in my search for cool tattoo ideas, I came across this. This little guy isn't sitting there lonely and sad. He looks rather dapper.
And no, I will not be getting this tattoo. Gawd, no.
Just chillin' in the break room the other night, one of the young guys on break was taking a quiz in a magazine. "Hey, Zena, can I ask you an inappropriate question? Would you rather be tall and have a small penis or be short and have a really big one?"
Well, knock me over with a dildo. That was quite unexpected and took some thinking. Never having had a penis, I really couldn't care less if it was big or not. But being short, well, I think that would suck. So I voted for tall with a wee wang. But apparently about 75% of men chose the other option. Huh.
Now where was I going with this? Um...oh yeah. Obviously you can't miss what you've never had. And men are really obsessed with their whangdoodles starting from an early age.
But back to where I was going with this...you can't miss what you've never had. And everyone has their own "normal". For example, I love watching the short people at work jump and stretch and try in vain to reach something on a shelf until I casually lean over and effortlessly grab it. Sometimes I dangle it over their heads to taunt them. Makes my day. Take that away from me by suddenly making me short and I think I'd get an inferiority conplex. My reality would be shaken. The very paradigm of my life would be horrifically shifted.
So I guess the point of this post is, I don't wanna be a short guy with a big dick. I've got enough to deal with right now. You know, mid-life crisis, loss of faith, all that shit. But I wouldn't mind a visit from the boob fairy. She shorted me the first time around.
I hate whiners. They bug the hell out of me. Just do something about the situation and shut the hell up already! So I'm putting myself on notice. No more whining! The sun is shining (for the moment) I've got work, friends, and great kids. My eldest brought me flowers and a funny card Sunday night to cheer me up. Who needs to whine when I've got kids like that? I'm looking on the bright side of life! And I've got Vegas, baby...
I am angry, tired and frustrated. Again. I was ready to pack my bags and walk away this morning till I saw the faces of my two girls. I am sick of living half a life. I am angry at myself for being so financially dependent on someone else. I am angry because I care so much what my children think of me. In their eyes I've already ruined our celestial family by leaving the church. To leave their father as well would be, I'm afraid, unforgivable.
I spent decades seeking and yearning for emotional validation until I finally realized he simply doesn't know how to give it. You can't get water from a rock and it's futile to try. To try for 30 years is sheer stupidity. When I stopped looking for anything from him I freed myself in a small way. It's not my fault if he comes home from work in a bad mood. Silence and brooding have always been his best weapons. But I don't need to fix it. It is not my problem. I do not need to let it affect me. I don't need to hear that he loves me or to have a present on a special day. I don't care any more. I buy my own presents and flowers. I look after my own emotional and physical needs.
If only making the final cut of divorce were so easy. I try to picture the words coming out of my mouth. I try to picture the best time to say them. I picture what might happen after I say them. I don't do drama. I hate big scenes. I don't want to have to ask my baby girl if she wants to move out with me or stay with her dad. I used to be so afraid he'd throw me out. Now I almost wish he would. It would probably be easier that way.
My friends tell me I should talk to a lawyer. But who? And how do I pay them? So many unknowns. So many obstacles. So much of it swirling and clouding my mind. So much pain for other people just because I want to be happy.
My BYU freshman daughter called me to tell me alllll about breaking up with her first real boyfriend. It was a very convoluted conversation but I got the idea that he liked her a lot more than she liked him but she didn't want to hurt him and oh! this dating thing is so hard, someone always gets hurt. How she wished she had not let him hold her hand! Or hug her! She felt so cheap giving it away to someone she didn't really love.
Flash back a couple of years. I had just returned home from a week-long trip. This same daughter corners me late that night and procedes to scare the hell out of me. "So I found your high school journal." Oh, shit. I still had that? "Is it true what you wrote?" You mean about having lots of sex with my boyfriend? Yeah. "Well," she turned towards me, hand on hip, "that explains a lot."
I ran into this blog LDS (Mormon) Stake President yesterday. The newest post is about Surgical Sterilization (Including Vasectomies). Deja vu! This (hopefully) fictional Stake President wrote:
I was horrified this week to find out that a member of the bishopric in one of my wards has had a vasectomy.When I met with him and his wife they admitted to having done this without consulting church leaders.They said they had felt good about the decision as they prayed about it...
The post ends with this lovely paragraph:
The handbook goes on to state that "persons responsible for this decision should consult with each other and with their Bishop".Because they failed in this regard I felt I should temporarily withhold their temple recommends while they go through the repentance process.The brother will not sit on the stand as a bishopric member during this time but I will not release him if he sincerely repents.It breaks my heart.Church leaders have to make such difficult decisions sometimes.
I honestly can't tell if this blog is meant to be satirical or not. It hits so very, very close to reality that it just raises my ire and blood pressure. Like this post where he denies a woman a temple recommend because she drinks green tea so she cannot attend her own daughter's wedding. Every post just makes me want to slap someone silly. But not laugh. I find no humor in it whatsoever. Am I getting my thong in a wad for nothing? Thoughts, anyone?
To follow up on a previous post that touched on the church and vasectomies, I found this from the Bishop's Handbook. It's amazing what you can find online. (The picture is not from the handbook. Too bad. It would have been more entertaining.)
Surgical sterilization (including vasectomy)
The church strongly discourages surgical sterilization as an elective form of birth control. Surgical sterilization should be considered only if (1) medical conditions seriously jeopardize life or health or (2) birth defects or serious trauma have rendered a person mentally incompetent and not responsible for his or her actions. Such conditions must be determined by competent medical judgment and in accordance with law. Even then, the persons responsible for this decision should consult with each other and with their bishop and should receive divine confirmation of their decision through prayer. Source: Handbook 2: Adminstering the Church
So. If one of you decides that someone needs to get neutered because you've got more kids than money and sanity, you gotta go ask the bishop. Of course, if having all those kids has caused a woman serious trauma and she is no longer responsible for her actions, it's okay. But then who takes care of all the existing kids? It's a conundrum, for sure.
So my damn dog tried to type on my laptop and knocked off my "E" key, leaving just a stump to type on. Add this to my sticky spacebar and it takes three times as long to type as it normally would. Unless...I just keep on typing and don't go back and correct anything. Yeah, that's it. That'd be way faster. Let me try it.
So todayI'v spnt most of m morningplayingZuma bcausemystupid sister challngd m andIalwasy havto accpt a challng but sh's frakishly fast and Ica not kp up with hr.
My favorite movie scene of all time. I appreciate it even more than when I first saw it over 25 years ago. But it got one thing wrong. It grouped Mormons in with the contraceptive users. Not the orthodox ones! In fact, you need to get permission from your bishop to get a vasectomy. That fact very nearly kept my husband out of the bishopric! We had not sought permission to limit our family before we got him snipped and neutered. How sad that would have been! How utterly devastating!
Cognitive Dissenter's post today cuts far too close to the bone. I'm really rather surprised something like this hasn't happened.. If there were more women in the legislature, it just might. Besides, very few men actually look good in tighty whities. But...the sacred underwear aren't any better.
I was peacefully going along with my day, working through my tasks, when out of nowhere it hit me. WHAM! The cold chill of foreboding. Something was wrong. It had been a long time since I'd felt this. The spirit was warning me. As the chill spread and clutched at my heart I knew something horrible had happened. It must be my oldest daughter. I had talked to her earlier and she'd been on my mind. It MUST be her. An accident maybe? She'd been depressed so maybe she'd had a complete breakdown. What could it be? Should I call her? Call her brother to check on her?
The chill spread to my lungs, numbness shot down my arms and legs. I was almost engulfed in the feeling, frozen in place, a mere breath from passing out. But finally a tiny prick of sanity broke through. This was not the spirit of anything. I breathed slow and deep and pushed against the rising panic. Because I can now recognize it for what it is. A panic attack.
So I looked up my stats because I was bored and found the top key word searches people use to find my blog. Hmmm.
Old lady with big boobs
1 8 boobs. (WTF?)
Gay tight ass
So I guess this is a whiney blog written by a fat pissy woman with old lady boobs. Or maybe 1 8 boobs. (But I would think fnding bras would be difficult.) I'm not sure where the gay tight ass fits in. It sure ain't mine.
Soooo...I'm stripping the floor-to-ceiling floral wallpaper from one of our bedrooms. Not my idea. I think it looks as good today as when I put it up ten years ago, damn it. But, whatever. My work hours have been cut and I've got a little time on my hands. It is a painstakingly painful process. Even after the actuall wallpaper is off, the damn glue is coating everything and tiny bits of wallpaper are sticking to it like toilet paper lint on the butt of that Charmin bear.
But it's strangely like excavating an archeological site. As the layer of wallpaper comes off I remember other wall treatments, color schemes and uses for the tiny room.
When we first moved in it was a storage room. Only two kids and not much furniture so we really didn't need to utilize it. But soon I was able to decorate it for a nursery with colorful balloons on the walls in bright shades. Then my little baby girl grew and the room became a toddler's room, filled with toys and a big-girl bed. Another baby came, there was a shuffling of rooms, and it became my eldest son's bedroom. The walls were painted steel gray and a giant space mural covered one entire wall. More shuffling of rooms and it became a bedroom for my youngest daughter and the space mural was covered by those ubiquitous blue flowers. It was soon pressed into service as an office for me as I worked full-time from home. Then just a spare room as the kids started moving out and I got a job outside the house.
I never realized how that room has mirrored my life--young mother, older mother, working mother, almost-empty nester. And now I'm stripping it and getting it ready for another incarnation. I'm not sure yet what it will be...but I know I won't be putting up any more damn wallpaper. That stuff sucks.